Honshitsu
by Kaiyo No Hime
Summary: Another look on Gundam Pilots, and who they really are


Essay on Truth
    
    
    All the standard warning apply. I don't own Gundam Wing,
    all its characters are the sole property of whoever owns it. Umm...
    don't sue me because I only have $5, and it probably wouldn't be
    worth your time! But, that's it, so enjoy!
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    
    
    _Honshitsu_
    
    _by Eikyu No Nozomi_
    
    
    Five little boys. Children, infants really, but at one
    time, they were the mightiest of men. The world depended
    upon them, and when the chore was done, they were thrown
    away like rubbish. It is sad, but true. Heaven, Hell, and the
    World move on, leaving the hollow, worn out husks of
    these five solitary warriors behind. But, even before they
    were know as these Brave Fighters, these Gundam Soldiers,
    they were people. But, in the name of humanity, that was
    not allowed to last for long, or ever at all.
    _
    
    
    Oh, all of time's have come
    Here but now they're gone
    Seasons don't fear the reaper
    Nor do the wind, the sun, or the rain
    
    
    _
    There was the trained assassin, taught from the
    youngest age only to kill, never to weep. His own father
    was the one who armed him, supplied him with his first
    weapon, and taught him how to take his first life. People
    stood back and watched as this tiny child became the killer
    of millions, swooping over the battlefield on the wings of
    his weapon, killing and destroying all that stood in the way
    of completing his mission.
    But Heero, scared Heero, was not always like this.
    He once was nothing more than a frightened child at first,
    crying himself to sleep at night with the memories of his
    training, his fathers teachings, haunting him even into his
    dreams. A young child, who, at the tender age of five, was
    taught to shoot to kill, hold no mercy, save for that of the
    quick death. No mothers love ever found his heart, no
    kindness was allowed to infect his thoughts. He, in the
    minds of all who raised and trained him, was nothing more
    than a Gundam Pilot, a Perfect Soldier. But, in creating
    this soldier of perfection, they did not realize that in doing
    so, they had destroyed the very thing that was perfection. A
    humans soul.
    And so, now, were a person to look into Heero's
    deep eyes, they would drown in emptiness. He has no soul,
    he is nothing more than the discarded shell of a person.
    Never weep for Heero Yuy, though, there is nothing that
    can be done for him now. Weep only for what he has
    become, and for the child suffering in anguish as his soul
    melts through his fingers, people looking on with only their
    own interests at heart. Weep for that poor child, not the
    result, not the shell.
    _
    
    
    We can be like they are
    Come on baby
    Don't fear the reaper
    Baby take my hand
    Don't fear the reaper
    We'll be able to fly
    Don't fear the reaper
    Baby, I'm your man
    
    
    _
    Then there is the heart, the one who feels all
    emotion, and weeps for every person he is forced to kill,
    every person he must destroy to save a thousand more.
    Quatre Rabera Winner. He would pity the killer as even
    himself was struck down. It is sad that he was ever forced
    to meet the battlefield, but without him, without his
    kindness, and his ability to see past the missions, to see an
    even greater good, people would have long ago been
    doomed. There must always be a sacrifice to appease war,
    and Quatre has fulfilled that role all too well. It is so
    depressing to see him forced to choose between his beliefs
    and his life, but he chooses instead of forcing that upon
    thousands of even weaker people.
    True, he too was forced into the role of protector, but
    he does not complain. Every day of his training, he held up
    his chin, dried his tears, and took another step further. He
    did not, would not, let the poison of war kill his soul. He
    kept his essence clean, dealing with the hatred that clasped
    onto him in his own fashion.
    But he chose the wrong way to deal with his intense
    fury. He bottled it up, keeping it forever trapped within his
    soul, eating it away and leaving only darkness in its place.
    Soon, there might be nothing left of that dear, sweet boy.
    Only a tormented victim, craving redemption, but never
    stepping forward. Another sacrifice at the alter of the war
    gods.
    _
    
    
    Valentine is done
    Here but now they're gone
    Romeo and Juliet
    Are together in eternity
    Romeo and Juliet
    Forty thousand men and women everyday
    Like Romeo and Juliet
    Forty thousand men and women everyday
    Greedy for happiness
    Another forty thousand coming everyday
    
    
    _
    And the nameless one, the one who lurks through
    life, never truly showing his true face to anyone, just
    covering it up with a half clown mask. Trowa Barton.
    Triton Bloom. No Name. Nanashi. It doesn't matter that
    he has no true history, he still was a soldier, a fighter
    for life. But, by the time he first sat down in the cockpit of
    the gundam Heavyarms, he was already destroyed. There
    was nothing left of him before the battle got hold of him.
    He has been nothing more than a cleverly hidden shell all
    his life. Even Heero has a faint spark, while Trowa has
    nothing more than an empty memory of battle, war, and
    hatred.
    If there was ever one to be pitied, Trowa is the one
    deserving of that tear shed in vain. He cares not for himself,
    only for those he defends. He would not kill a fly if it were
    possible, but fate deemed it otherwise, and he was forced to
    shed a thousand times fold those he met in combat. True, it
    was to save a million more each time, it was still something
    no person should ever be forced into, especially one who
    can claim nothing in return, not even the peace of mind that
    the end brings.
    No, the only thing that could ever bring peace to the
    turmoil of Trowa's mind, for he has no soul left with which
    to grapple, is the fact that he did right, that sacrificing the
    humane part of himself for the souls of the world was the
    only thing he could have done. That he, in turn for his
    death, shall gain his soul back. But that will never happen,
    because a soldier, a child of his age, should never be faced
    with the agony a conscious would cause him. No, he
    would be better off left as the piece of flesh, blood, and
    mind he was allowed to survive as, and be thankful that he
    will never wake up in the mid of night covered in a cold
    sweat, the faces of his victims surrounding him in torment.
    _
    
    
    We can be like they are
    Come on baby
    Don't fear the reaper
    Baby take my hand
    Don't fear the reaper
    We'll be able to fly
    Don't fear the reaper
    Baby I'm your man
    Love of two is one
    Here but now they're gone
    
    
    _
    And then there is Duo Maxwell, the God of Death,
    Shinigami. He passes everything off with a laugh, a wink,
    and a smile. He pretends that death has no affect on him,
    that he is Death. That, when the battle is over, and the deed
    done, he can saunter down the street, take a nap, chat with
    some friendly strangers, and never have his conscious
    bother him for it.
    But this isn't true, it never could be. If Duo was as
    able to dismiss the deaths he caused in every fight so easily,
    there would be nothing there to keep him on the battle field.
    He would desert it for the nearest theme park, a nice sunny
    park. He feels the pain as intensely as the others, but
    chooses that his mask wear the smile of a happy clown,
    even if the plaster is easily seen through.
    It is sad that Duo must destroy himself in such ways,
    to sacrifice his happiness in such a horrible falsity, but it
    must happen. He swore to the dying Sister Helen that no
    one would ever suffer again, and is making sure that no one
    ever will. He is still a human being, blood runs in his
    veins, a soul still rests within his eyes, a conscious in his
    heart. But he must struggle with them so that he might
    save other war torn orphans, such as he, from his same fate.
    He suffers every day, but in him, good does prevail.
    _
    
    
    Cambele ask light up Sethus
    And it was clear she couldn't go on
    Then the door was open and the wind appeared
    The candles blew and then disappeared
    The curtains flew and then he appeared
    Saying don't be afraid
    Come on baby
    
    
    _
    The last one of these five pilots is the greatest
    enigma of all, and the saddest. WuFei Chang. He was not
    the original pilot, he was never meant to meet the
    battlefield. But he is there none the less, doing as much as
    all the other pilots combined to help. He claims he fights
    for justice, but in truth, he fights because of a broken heart.
    His wife was the first pilot of the Shenglong, even
    though WuFei was all the more talented. But WuFei did
    not wish to fight, and who can blame him? He was no
    more than fourteen at the time. But that didn't stop his wife
    from piloting, it didn't stop her from disobeying her
    husband, and piloting the Shenglong.
    And it was from the cockpit of the Shenglong, after a
    disastrous battle, that WuFei pulled her near dead body,
    carrying her to the flower meadow she had loved so much.
    He swore he would avenge her, reek justice upon his
    enemies. But he wasn't using justice. He was just a scared
    little boy that had watched his wife die.
    No, even though he has a clashing personality, and
    an uncontrollable temper, he is to be the most pitied of
    them all. They all chose their fates, he was forced into it
    more than anything else. I would not shed a tear in his
    misery, but I would look sadly back, and weep in my
    thoughts.
    _
    
    
    And she had no fear
    And she ran up to him
    And started to fly
    They looked backward and said
    She had become like they are
    She had taken his hand
    She had become like they are
    
    
    _
    Whenever I walk into a conversation about these five
    tragic souls, I always hear people saying how cool it would
    be to pilot a Gundam, how they would give anything to be
    in these pilot's shoes. When I hear comments like this, I
    can only shake my head and walk away. Would they truly
    want to sacrifice themselves for this cause? Would they
    gladly face death everyday? Would they be happy of their
    choice when they woke up in bed at night, haunted by the
    faces of those they killed?
    No, no they wouldn't. They only think it would be
    cool because it is a cool anime, nothing more than that.
    And it really shouldn't be anything more than that. I would
    hate to wake up one night, when I am old, withered, and
    gray, and realize that we did the same thing to five little
    children that happened to these five little soldiers. That is
    my worst fear, and I hope it stays where it rests now, in the
    realm of nightmares only.
    _
    
    
    Come on baby
    Don't fear the reaper
    
    
    _


End file.
